


Bitch, Mickey Milkovich Lights His Own Fireworks!

by Lalablowlooza



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Ian Gallagher, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Christmas Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Jealous Ian Gallagher, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Top Ian Gallagher, Top Mickey Milkovich, christmas lights kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:15:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalablowlooza/pseuds/Lalablowlooza
Summary: Mickey's been lighting shit on fire since he came out of the womb,But lighting up Ian like that last night shook him to his very core...Now he has everything he's ever wanted,So why's he fucking running?





	Bitch, Mickey Milkovich Lights His Own Fireworks!

It’s always fear,

deep in the dark, wet, cavern of our heart and soul, lies a pebble that becomes a rock,

... weighing us down...

 

The room was dark, late into the evening on Boxing day. Ian promised him it would be the best Christmas gift he'd ever received and now, looking at his present lying naked across this double bed, white sheets lit up like a halo around him, Mickey almost gasped in shock. Mickey Milkovich doesn’t usually gasp, dear reader, but Jesus Christ, Gallagher completely destroyed his retinas with all this colour and light.

"What the fuck are you up to Firecrotch?" he breathes, cautiously closing the bedroom door behind him.

Ian looks like a fucking rainbow! Mickey's never had a Christmas tree, but he's pretty sure these fucking twinkling lights people always _oohh_  and _aahh_  about weren't ever meant to be debased in this most amazing and all 50shadesofiangallaghersgayfantasy way. 

"Merry Christmas," Ian smirks up at him, stretching his long, illuminated body so that Mickey can eye-fuck every valley and grove of his smooth toned skin.

Mickey couldn’t help but remember those glow worm toys he used to see on TV every Christmas. They had some fucking mechanism that kids would pull, or squeeze, and they’d light up like a beacon with a sleepy smile painted on their face. 

Ian was a fucking glow worm.

He had wrapped cords of multi-coloured lights around himself and Mickey, who never believed in God a day in his life, was certain he was having a fucking religious experience. If angels existed this is definitely the way they revealed themselves.  The dark green ropes were tied loosely around one wrist then up across his wide shoulder, tangled like a bright necklace around his neck, then down over his muscled arm and around the other wrist.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey eyes the cords hungrily, trying  catch his breath.

“Too much?” the ginger glow worm asks pretending innocence while tapping his fingers lightly across his stomach, up his torso, the lights on his wrist making his skin shine in technicolour, his cock growing impossibly harder with Mickey’s desperate stare.

Licking his dry lips Mickey steps to the edge of the bed and runs his nails across Ian’s thighs, “You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Mickey whispers and the awe in his voice makes Ian’s hands pause, “I’ve never had a Christmas present before,” he stares at the cords around Ian's neck, “You…” he swallows, “You’re making up for all the ghosts of Christmas past Gallagher,” and his voice breaks a little with the confession.

“What?” Ian lifts on his elbows and the lights flicker all over his muscled stomach and that deep v Mickey’s been wanting to run his tongue across since the ginger dumbass texted him to ‘cum over.’

“Ay, let’s not fucking make this about how fucked up my childhood was,” Mickey bends over holding his body over Ian with his arms, capturing Ian’s mouth with his own. Fuck him, but Ian even tastes like a rainbow, sweet and tangy like he just swallowed a pack of Skittles.

Mickey wants to take his time and enjoy every twitch and muscle of his lover’s multicoloured body. Fingers soft and light, goosebumps running across pink and yellow and blue skin, circling erect tight nipples shivering with pleasure at his touch.  Ian’s an instrument of the most hypnotizing song and Mickey is blinded by a synopsis of colour and heat. A velvet rainbow spread before him and he’s never seen anything more fucking beautiful.

“I – “ he pauses.

“Mick?” Ian’s smile wanes, worried. 

Mesmerized by the brightness of it all, Mickey steps back from the bed and starts taking off his shirt. Slowly he pulls the fabric over his head, his eyes hungrily returning to Ian who’s watching him with that iknowyouwantinmerightnow curve of his lips. He slides his pants and boxers down easily, never breaking eye contact, and pushes his soft socks off his feet.

“Now who’s beautiful,” Ian sighs, and Mickey wastes no time capturing that mouth with his own, hand gently twisting Ian’s face so he can get the right access.

Fuck. He pulls back. “Where’s the lube? Condoms?” he asks now in a hurry to make Ian feel all the fucked up hot and wet feelings that are flickering in his stomach.

“Umm, well...” Ian's eyes are luminescent sparks of mischief, “You took so long getting here, I kinda started without you.” Mickey’s knees soften at the image of Ian fingering himself while he was making his way here, and he almost crumples to the floor. 

“Fuck me, Ian” he says trying to catch his breath.

“Nope, that’s your job tonight,” Ian chuckles, and sweet Christ but Mickey fucking loves this dumbass.

“Pass me that shit anyway, I don’t wanna hurt your ass, or make you hate me in the morning.” 

“Oh Mickey,” Ian laughs, kissing him, pulling his body closer, “I’m hoping I could feel the way you hurt my ass for days, and…” he kisses him again, long and deep, “I could never hate you Mick,” wet lips telling truths.

“Ok Cinderella,” Mickey tries to joke off the intensity of Ian’s voice, “Let’s get you ready for the ball yeah?” Pouring some of the lube on his fingers he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed and swallows Ian’s dripping dick until it hits the back of his throat.

“Shit Mickey,” Ian moans surprised and awed by how much of his dick the brunette can take.

Mickey twirls his tongue around that pulsing vein, simultaneously dipping two fingers past Ian’s pink bud of muscles, moaning at how tight Ian squeezes around him. Slurping his way up, he lets go of Ian’s wet dick and quirks his eyebrow, “Shit, I don’t know how your tight ass is gonna take all of my dick, but I cant wait to fucking find out,” he smirks watching the ways Ian's eyes darken and his cock twitches. 

Scissoring his fingers he paces his need as Ian throws his head back relaxing into the stretch, “God Mick, can't wait to have you in me, all over me… can't wait for you take me… make me yours,” Ian moans as his breathing gets heavier with each push and stretch of Mickey’s fingers.

Using his free hand to grab the condom, Mickey rips it with his teeth and uses both hands to wrap his weeping cock. Rubbing some of the left over lube over the latex, he climbs on the bed grabbing Ian’s legs under the knees, folding them forward.

Fuck.

Lit up like a Christmas tree below him, Ian’s skin is shining with colour and heat, breath hitching in expectation, eyes blown, lips wet, and Mickey can’t fucking wait to get in him. He bends over to catch the redhead’s open mouth.

“I’ll be easy with you, I promise” he says over his lovers’ wet lips.

“I know Mick,” Ian breathes, and Mickey feels his smile as he moves his head to plunder Mickey’s mouth with his wide tongue. So much trust, so much love, and Mickey wants to drown in it, bask in it, pound his hard, hot dick into his lover’s ass for an eternity, and never, ever, leave this rainbow room.

Slowly, he pushes himself inside Ian’s volcanic heat and his body trembles with need and demand. _Push, sink, brand, own!_ Fuck. Fire shoots up his thighs, skitters across his lower back and he’s pretty fucking sure he’s gonna combust with all the pent up desperation to fucking move!

He takes a breath, eyes closed, hands gripping Ian’s strong thighs. Breathe. _Fucking breathe Milkovich!_

Ian looks where their bodies are connected and his chest is doing that panting thing that drives Mickey fucking insane, but also worries him a bit.

“You ok Firecrotch?” he watches as Ian’s eyes shoot up to meet his, breathing like he’s ran a marathon. Mickey’s dick twitches and he shifts his weight waiting for Ian’s body to adjust.  
  
“Yeah,” Ian breathes deep, licking his lips, “You’re inside me, holy shit Mickey,” deep breaths, eyes dark as midnight.

“Yeah, thanks Sherlock,” he tries his best not to watch Ian panting in excitement and spill into his tight ass before they even get started.

Both hands pushing into Ian’s hips, he holds him still, “Stop your fucking dragon breathing or this will be the shortest dickinass experience of your life,” he rests his forehead against the redhead, sharing his hot breath.

“I love you,” Ian smiles, open, glowing, beautiful, “I love you so much Mickey. No one’s been this good to me, never will be.”  

Mickey closes his eyes, _too much, too much_.

Ian reaches up to touch his face, lights twinkling, “You’re my last Mickey, no one else ever really had me, and no will ever have me again,” he promises, words glimmering, and Mickey feels the warmth of his hand on his face.

“No chill man,” Mickey mouths into the brightness of his palm, “No. Fucking. Chill…none,” but his words are soft in the warmth of Ian's palm.

“I love you Mickey,” Ian turns his head so Mickey looks at him, “All yours Mickey,” he curves his hand behind Mickeys neck, kissing him, pulling him in, “All yours Mickey,” he says again and again, vows sparking like all the colours bursting through Mickey’s tattered dark heart. Wiggling under him, Ian tries to create the friction his body craves now that he’s adjusted to Mickeys girth.

“Yours Mickey. Please move…” his muscles tighten and release, and Mickey has to fucking close his eyes, _too much, too much_ , his senses overloaded with colour and skin and need and sound, “Please move Mickey,” Ian’s begging now, lyrics to a song he can’t stop singing.

Mickey feels like his whole world's about to explode. Like he's one of those disco balls glittering all over the fucking room from all the ways that Ian lights him up. Too much light trickling through all the holes in his armour. All the dents and scratches, small chinks, and wide bullet holes, all bursting with light and rainbows like a fucking colour prism.  Ian's been taking him apart for years, bit by bit, piece by piece, and now all the light Ian holds inside himself is pouring into Mickey and shines clearly, bursting through all the breaks and scratches to bathe the room in dazzling hues of pink and blue and purple and red.

“Yours Mickey, only yours,” Ian captures his lips pulling him down on top of him forcing him to pump into his body.  

“Mine,” he growls, grinding his hips, he digs himself deeper, pulling out so slowly, almost coming undone as the younger man groans in pleasure, “Now stop your yammering, and take my dick,” he bites that bottom lip smiling while bottoming out over and over, riding the sparkling shocks that heat up across his cock with every stroke.

   
Barriers fragment.

Walls collapse.

Heart on fire.

The world is crumbling, and Mickey’s armour fractures and shatters with every gasp and moan and _fuck me_ that comes cursing out of Ian’s mouth.

 _Too much, too much_.

Pumping into Ian’s heat he watches as Ian reaches his arms and grabs the slats in his bed post, throwing his head back, “Mickey, fuck… omg, so full… Mickey, fuck...” chanting, stretching, every muscle flooded with green and red and yellow and blue.

Mickey wraps his FUCK hand around Ian’s straining dick, using the wetness of precum to rub hard and slow, while his other hand pushes down into Ian’s hip holding him in place.

Lights move with the rhythm of his pushing and pulling in a flickering kaleidoscope all over the room, their bodies, reflections of orange and blue and red and pink and Mickey thinks he might be dizzy from the euphoria of just fucking into his man like a never-ending dream.

“Ian, fuck, I’m so close,” eye closing, his dick impossibly swelling with every stroke of Ian’s tightening muscles, “Ian, fuck, so good…  Ian... so beautiful, I’ve never, …fuck!” he grinds down deep into his lover.

“Come on, Mick,” Ian groans looking up and Mickey’s never seen his eyes so fucking gone, “Mickey don’t stop, holy shit don’t stop, fuck... I’m almost there, fuck Mickey I can’t... harder Mickey, come on, stop being so fucking nice to me,” he commands, in that tone that usually turns Mickey into a fucking mess when he's the one being plundered.

Growling under his breath Mickey fists his hand in the lights wrapped around Ian’s neck and spares only a second to wonder why these fucking lights aren’t burning hot, before he pulls Ian hard on his dick pistoning into him with the added force of his grip.

Lights spin nosily as Ian takes his dick like a pro, the room filled with the sounds of bodies smacking against each other. Electricity shoots down Mickey’s spine with every _YES_ Ian shouts at him, and heat pools in his groin. He’s gotta fucking cum, but there’s no way he’s going first, he’s got plans for Ian's fucking commanding mouth.

“Yes Mickey, fuck yes,” Ian mewls beneath him, his body obeying Mickeys every demanding pull on the light cords. Lightning catches in his veins and Mickey’s dick swells harder inside his lover.

“Fuck Ian,” he grips the cords, tightening them around Ian’s neck, and pulls him up so he can crash his mouth and tongue against his wet whimpering lips. Ian opens like Mickey’s his only breath, like he’s been waiting to be the consumed his whole life, like the gift he has for Mickey is not just one hell of a fucking psychedelic ride but this open, loose, submission of body and soul in a dream of lights and sounds and blue and purple and pink and orange...

“Fuck, Mickey I’m gonna cum,” he begs across Mickey’s mouth and Mickey squeezes the lights a little harder, the hitch in Ian’s breath telling him Ian feels the slight choke on his windpipe, “Fuuuuuckkk,” Ian keens cumming all over his muscled tense stomach, cum reaching Mickey’s fisted hand in the lights, shooting between their bodies while Ian’s mouth is open gasping for air and release.

 “C’mere” he tugs harder on the lights and Ian opens his eyes and smirks lazily, knowing what Mickey wants. So in synch, so fucking in synch with everything Mickey dreams about. He never has to ask, never has to tell Ian what he craves. Mickey fucking Milkovich has spent his whole life securing all his yearnings and fantasies behind a fortress of ammunition and Ian fucking Gallagher looks him in the eye and reads him like he’s unlocked every secret code and password Mickey’s spent half his life trying to defend.

Using the light cords as a collar, he maneuvers Ian on his knees at the end of the bed, pulls off the condom, and tugs Ian’s head closer as well kissed lips tighten around his shaft. Ian hollows out his cheeks swallowing Mickey down till his nose hits his groin.

“Fuck Ian, so good, fuck... yes,” he closes his eyes, throws his head back, and lets the multi-coloured lights from Ian’s head bobbing on his dick turn the room into a vortex of pleasure that rolls down his spine,  rushing into his groin. Pulling back he watches as Ian tongues the head of his engorged cock, blown out greens lost in the ecstasy of blue and Mickey shouts his name as he cums in heavy, hot spurts, painting his lovers’ mouth with streams of hot semen over and over. Ian licks his lips tasting and moaning in ecstasy as Mickey rubs his still hard dick across his mouth coating Ian with his cum, owning him, marking him, and Mickey has never felt this fucking close to anyone in his whole life. Never wanted to posses anyone this much, to hold on, to brand Ian so that he never ever thinks about anyone else, so that he never dreams of anything but rainbow lights and Mickey’s hot seed. So that he’s ruined, forever wrecked by a desperate need only Mickey can fill, only Mickey can satisfy. Fuck that’s a powerful feeling, and Mickey’s brain is too full of colour to worry about how god damn possessive he’s become of the ginger rainbow.

He pulls Ian into standing, hand still grasping tinkling lights and Ian comes, Ian submits, his body pliant to Mickey's every whim and fuck Mickey kisses him like he owns him, like he’ll never let him out of his sight, out of his life, out of this fucking room.

Ian wraps his long strong arms around Mickey’s trembling body and heat envelopes him. _Home, mine, home, mine_ a song plays in his head as Ian pulls him closer, mouth hot, tongue searching and Mickey tastes himself between them and feels his dick filling again.

 

  
“Fuck, Ian…” he sighs, as cool air dries the sheen of sweat on his skin.

He feels so raw. Turned inside out by the most viciously blinding light show of Ian’s heart flame. _Open, so open!_

Ian smiles into his mouth as green forests crowd around blue lakes that start to shadow with fear and denial. _Too much, too open_. Dazzling hues reveal more than just broken memories and healing hearts. Mickey feels like every red and blue and pink shows off the wounds that have healed on top of older wounds, scars bumping over pale skin and Ian, _god Ian_ , looking at him like he can see it all, like he loves it all.

He doesn’t want Ian loving that! He doesn’t fucking want Ian anywhere near all his disgusting ancient baggage, he doesn’t want anyone to see it!

Shit. Is this how Ian felt when they all saw his crazy? When he couldn’t keep it all hidden… when he kept pushing them all away and they kept looking at it, looking at all he wanted to hide, all the raw, the breaks, the fears, the damage… so much damage. Ian didn’t want him seeing it, “Too much, too much,” he’d said, but Mickey didn’t get it. He didn’t get how it felt to be so crudely revealed, so naked, so without armour, or walls, or even the transparent protection of darkness. Mickey didn’t get it… he’d been in the closet for so long, he could only see freedom in the light of revelation.

And now, ironically in the very darkness of this room, in the glittering of these fucking Christmas lights, he stood fully revealed.

And Mickey can’t, he fucking just… can’t.

He lets go of the cords, lets Ian fall back onto the bed, takes a slow step back and looks around the room. _Too much, too open, too naked_. He starts quickly picking up his clothes,  trying to pick up the world around him, all the armour he’s worked so hard to build that’s now lying at Ian’s feet like a second skin.

“Mickey?” Ian starts untangling the lights, “Mick, look at me.”

He hears Ian pulling harder on the cords now tightening around his arms like a trap.

“I gotta go man,” Mickey doesn’t look up, can’t look at Ian, can’t show him what Ian must know by now he’s feeling cause Ian always knows, he always fucking knows everything Mickey feels, and now… now Ian knows just… everything… everything. Fuck!

“Work tomorrow. I’ll text you,” he pulls on his flannel, backing away, looking for his boots.

“Mickey! What the fuck? Mickey!” he hears Ian cursing in the bedroom as he walks to the door. Frustrated growls, as something like the ripping of plugs out of walls crashes in the room behind him.

And Mickey’s running. He’s fucking running, and the world snaps back to monochrome shades of black and white… and grey… so much grey.

_You’re a pussy._

Down the stairs, out past the apartment entrance, onto the street.

_You just left him there._

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, wrapping his jacket tighter around him.

_Fucking pussy._

“Fuck you!” he shouts, startling some homeless geezer sleeping off a bender on the street.

Fuck this. 

 ______

Ian was empty.

Vacant.

Like all the light inside his heart in soul had poured out of him in a technicolour dream that left him… abandoned him. Again.

He sat on his bed, head tilted, chest heaving, salt running down his face trying to figure out what went wrong. How could he have misread everything so badly?

 _What do you want for Christmas?_ He’d asked Mickey, kissing him softly before leaving to have dinner with his family. They both decided their reconnection was too new, too raw, to involve anymore Gallaghers in the mix. Mandy was the only one who knew they were seeing each other again, and Ian was more than glad to acquiesce to Mickey’s need for more time and privacy.

 _What do you want for Christmas?_ he asked again, holding Mickey’s head in his large hands, forcing shy blues to meet his eager greens.

“You,” Mickey whispered kissing him hard and wet like his whole word depended on being attached to Ian’s lips.

So, Ian planned the most romantically lighted way to give himself to his non-romantic boyfriend, hoping it would be a night they would never forget.

But something went wrong. What went wrong?

He was always too much. Mickey was fucking right. He had no chill. And now he ruined everything. Again.

Sobbing in a wet breath he reaches for his phone. He should take off these lights, but who fucking cares.

Ian:  hey

        U ok?

        Sorry

        I didn’t mean to freak you out

        Mick?

Wiping the wetness from his face he begins untangling the cold cords. Looking at his phone every 5 seconds is starting to make him antsy and pathetic. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he pulls the cords off and heads to take a shower.

Hot water scalds his skin and all he remembers is Mickey’s eyes watching him like he’s the only light in the room. Mickey’s hands touching him, hard and soft and wanting. So much wanting. Soaping his skin he feels his dick swelling with memory.

Mickey’s been gone less than an hour and he wants him again. And now… now that Mickey’s been inside him, deep and hard and touching every part of him, branding him in a way no one has before, Ian knows there’s no turning back. He’ll just wait, he tells himself.  He’ll have to wait till Mickey’s ready to be with him again. God, he misses him so much his bones hurt. The heavy weight on his chest, the darkness inside his heart… he gave Mickey all his light… all of it… and now the darkness is cold and wet and so, so fucking lonely.

Stepping out of the shower he dries and creams his skin admiring all the bruises Mickey’s hands left on his body. A light redness circles his neck where the cords tightened just right. Blue and purple fingerprints run patterns across his chest and hips. Fuck, but Mickey really held on for dear life.

Walking to the dresser he picks up his phone.

Mickey: hey

            All good

            No worries

His heart flutters a little. Maybe he’s overreacting, Mickey might’ve freaked out, but he’s probably over it by now.

Ian: cool

       Wanna come over tonight?

       We could grab food maybe watch a movie

Mickey: nah man gotta work next 3 days

Ian’s heart dims as he sits on the bed. Anxiety and fear threaten to swallow all his joy. Mickey’s not over it. Whatever this ‘it’ thing is anyways.

Ian: ah

       K

       So like ur busy and stuff

Mickey: ya man

             Sorry

             I’ll text u later k

Wow. _Guess that’s that huh?_ Ian throws his phone on the night table and closes the blinds. The youth center he works at is closed till the new year so he doesn’t have any plans. In all honesty he planned to spend all his free time wrapped around Mickey, but guess that’s out of the question now.

Beating himself up for being so extra he crawls into bed burrowing himself in the pillows and wrapping the bulky duvet around his cold body. Too late he realizes Mickey’s smell is all over his sheets and just like that his eyes begin to water, chest heaving, and this time he doesn’t fight the urge to whimper with the pain. _You took it all Mickey. All of it… now I have nothing left_.

_______

 

Mickey couldn’t stop glowing. He couldn’t keep all the light inside himself from pouring all over the sidewalks, all over the buildings and the bench he waited on, all over the fucking bus driver and strangers sitting around him, he was a fucking firefly on steroids by the time he got to work.

He’d been in the Rescue Center for less than five minutes when the pitbull he was currently working with in the rehabilitation gym noticed something was off about his caregiver.

“It’s ok Kane” he approaches the skittish dog slowly, lowering on his ankles, hand out, “It’s still me,” he whispers gently "… just fucked up.” Kane sniffs his hand, twists his head and Mickey has a second to see the spark connect between them before Kane jumps him knocking him off his heels climbing on top of his chest, happily licking his face. “Ok, Ok” Mickey laughs, “Holy shit man, what’s gotten into you?” he continues laughing slowly pushing the 80 pounds of slobbering dog off him.  Getting back on his knees he stares at the happy dog trying to figure out why he’s so happy and warm all of a sudden.

Mickey’s been working with him for the last three weeks and the dog never did more than growl softly and back away from human touch. Mickey tried every strategy in the book, beginning with soft voice, bribery, firm commands and, nothing.

“Why you so fucking happy today Kane?” he reaches to pet the massive head, trying his best to avoid the drool slobbering off his lolling tongue, “Something different about you, or me?” Mickey rubs the dogs’ left ear and feels the weight of his head leaning into his hand, “You’re a cuddly shit now huh? Just full of drool and-“ (it hits Mickey like lightning), “-light! Holy fuck dog!” he jumps up, Kane following behind him, tail wagging in happiness. “It’s me, fuck it’s me!” he paces back and forth while Kane watches him, head turned in what can only be doggy confusion, “I’m fucking different…. I’m changed…. I’m fucking full of light!” turning he looks at the dog who tilts his head again almost questioning. “Yeah, I know, I know, humans are stupid” he smiles at the beast kneeling down to wrap his arms around the canine. Kane fucking lets him and Mickey knows something has definitely shifted. Closing his eyes he sees Ian covered in red and blue and green and yellow.

Fuck. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memories.

_What do you want for Christmas?_

_You._

And Ian gave it. All of it.

Fuck.

Ian had pulled something out of Mickey before.

Something powerful and strong that had been dormant or beaten or Mickey didn’t fucking know but it wasn’t there until Ian came after him over and over and over again and yanked and yanked and pulled and pushed and screamed and cried and it was out of Mickey in one fell swoop and one declaration and just like that, Mickey was free.

But this... last night. This was different. This time Ian had poured something into Mickey. Poured light and colours and heat and more colour and more light. It felt like all the light that made up Ian’s blistering sunshine was now bursting out of every pore in Mickey’s body. Cleansing and healing and spilling all over the fucking floor and it was scaring the fuck out of him.

He was a grown man for fucks sake, but this light was life changing, all consuming, and Mickey needed to get away from it, pull it out of his chest and stop it from crawling all over his body and fucking suffocating him.

He needed space, he needed to breathe.

Kane whines gently and he realizes he’s holding on too tightly, “Sorry buddy,” he releases the dog. “Fuck. Ok, we got work to today still,” he smiles at the wagging tail, “Don’t think all this fucking cuteness and slobber’ll get you out of training.”

Spending the next hour taking Kane through his commands and training exercises ends up being more therapy for Mickey than the now surprisingly obedient and willing pitbull. Fuck, what had Ian done to him? This light shit was like some kind of rainbow magic. Mickey couldn’t believe how light he felt, how happy and full of joy. He literally spent most of that hour high on the euphoria of the colours in his veins and the other half trying to escape the growing anxiety that this luminescence felt so good, he might die if he never felt it again.

Fuck.

Maybe Ian really was magic.

“Yo, Milkovich,” Castro’s voice jolts him back into the training gym. Kane’s whole body changes instantly, muscles tense, teeth bared, growls echoing around the room. And the fucking ridiculous irony is that Mickey recognizes this pose, this anger.. defensiveness… fear… He knows he loves this job because so much of these rescued fight dogs remind him of himself. Back when tension, rage, and fear was all he knew. Back when his body lived in perpetual hardness and his heart and mind couldn’t see beyond the next threat, the next attack.. the next fucking violation.

“Mickey?” Castro stays still, voice firm, “Ease him down man come on.” Castro works with other rescues he’s not stupid enough to come in, but he knows better than to sound scared.

“It’s ok boy,” Mickey steps next to Kane, hand on the back of his neck, easing the tense muscles, ”Safe, Kane,” he uses the command they’ve been working on all week, “Safe. We’re safe,” he whispers. _Are you really safe Milkovich?_

Once he feels the fight slowly ebbing out of Kane, Mickey turns his attention to the door.

“What’s up man?” he walks confidently to the door.

Castro looks between him and the pitbull. “Holy shit, you got him to heel?” Castor’s eyes widen in amazement, “You got some kind of a gift Milkovich, dios mio, some kind of voodoo magic!” Mickey winces at the term, “I’m Ukrainian asshole,” he steps outside the gym, closing the door behind him.

“Wait,” Castro steps back a little, looking Mickey up and down, “What’d you do?”

“Nothing,” Mickey also steps back, trying to keep all the light inside his eyes, “Why?”

“You’re different…” Castro’s eyes squint in suspicion.

“Different?” Mickey fakes confusion.

“Yeah… less thunder and lightning, more… more sunshine and rainbow or some shit…” Castro hesitates.

“Sunshine and rainbow and shit?” Mickey laughs it off, “K shithead, stop smoking during work hours. What the hell you want anyway, stop jerking my balls,” he rubs his nose with his thumb and turns away.

“Something is definitely different about you Milkovich, some kind of Slavic magic then?” Castro jokes following behind him as they head towards the office. _More like gingersnap fucking rainbow magic._ Fuck. Still so raw, still vulnerable, and missing Ian like his world is ending. Was it really only last night he was bathed in bright lights and buried deep inside Ian’s tight ass?

Mickey pauses in the hallway stunned by his thoughts. Fuck.

“You ok bro?” Castro pauses, looking concerned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good man. Why’d you come get me?” Mickey picks up the pace heading to his office, he needs a fucking smoke break anyway.

Reaching into the desk across from Mickey’s Castro pulls out a pack of cigs and two wrapped subs. “Thought you might want lunch,” he dangles what Mickey knows is two all meat subs, smiling like an idiot, “I owe you for helping with Fluffy last week remember?” Mickey laughs, “Fuck yeah I remember how you needed help manhandling that fancy poodle” Mickey reaches for his sub still laughing.

“Fuck mijo, that poodle was one angry bitch!” Castro falls in step behind him chuckling at the memory and following Mickey in the back of the center where employees can smoke on their breaks.

“Stop reaching for them straight on man,” Mickey mumbles around a mouthful of delicious meat filled sub. Fuck he was hungry, “I keep telling your dumb ass, females are harder to approach than males,” Mickey puts his hand out, palm down, “don’t go in with an open hand” he reiterates slowly cause he’s only told Castro this a million fucking times.

“Yeah, ok, danceswithpitbulls, I got it, I got it” Castor mumbles around his own sandwich.

“You see that’s the point, mijo,” Mickey smirks emphasizing the Spanish term, “I don’t think you do.”

Castor gives him the finger while they both enjoy lunch in comfortable silence. Mickey reaches in his pocket to check his phone. He always puts it on Do Not Disturb at work because abused dogs hear everything, and random beeps and buzzes tends to set most of them off.

Ian:  hey

        I know ur working

        Just wanted to say hi

        Thinking of you

        Miss you

        Hows Kane? Warming up or still growling at u :)

Fuck Mickey loved the way Ian just randomly texted him every thought he had throughout the day. He’d never had anyone give a shit enough to really text him, not that he was really a texting guy, like why do people need so many fucking words to say the simplest shit? But Ian’s texts always made him smile. A warm glow spread in his chest every time he saw the redhead texted him, made him feel like Ian was always thinking of him, always wanting to share some dumb shit with him, and fuck it Mickey loved the fact his giant ginger clearly had no chill. Scrolling through the messages he smiled to himself as he read all the ways Ian shared his day with him.

Ian:  omg just saw this Segal DVD set on the shopping channel

        Lol the ponytail though

        So bored

        Wanna come over?

        Hang out after work?

        Miss u still

        Ordered pizza

        Castro working today?

        Fuck they fucked up my pizza

        Ugh

        Miss u

        Did I say that already

        K well txt me later?

        Or like whenever

        Text me whenever k?

Mickey chuckled to himself, no chill for real, none. And yet, as his finger hovered over the screen of his phone, he couldn’t think of a reply. _I miss you, I love you, I’m full of your fucking light and feel like I have no idea what to do with all this joy and stupid happiness._ No, just no. Closing his screen he slips the phone back in his pocket and shoves the rest of his sub in his mouth. Later. He’ll text him later. _Liar._

________

 

Checking his phone for the eleventh millionth time Ian sighs. Lying on the couch watching holiday reruns is not the way he imagined spending his time off from the youth center. Maybe he should just go into the office and finish paperwork? Maybe gear up and go for a run in the cold? The icy air might freeze out his heart and get rid of the restless energy in this head. Mickey was at work for the next couple of hours so maybe he wasn’t checking his phone. He knew the dogs got skittish around sounds so maybe he just didn’t have it on him.

Right, that was why. “Right,” he huffs to himself. _That’s why he hasn’t replied to you in two fucking days_. Pathetic. That’s what he was, fucking pathetic. Lying alone, head on the phone, staring at their thread willing Mickey to at least start typing so he could see the little ‘typing’ bubble.

“Fuck this,” he gets up and stretches. Reaching for the bar attached to the living room door he starts doing push ups hoping to wear out the itchiness in his arms. The current that constantly runs through him every time he thinks of Mickey. “Give him space, “ Mandy told him yesterday when he called desperate to hear if she’d heard from him or seen him.

Space.

Right. Well Mickey’s had two fucking days of space and Ian wasn’t sure it was doing them any good.

His phone vibrates and he almost falls on his ass running back to the couch to get it. Pathetic. Fucking pitiful. Not giving a shit, he clicks on the text.

Mickey: hey

 _Well, that’s fucking deep_ , Ian shakes his head.

Ian:  hey

        Hows ur day

        U good

        What r u doing later

 _No chill Ian_ , he berates himself. _So fucking not cool omg_.

Mickey: ya good

             Prob busy later

             Sorry

Ian breathes, air deflating lungs, ‘busy.’

Right.

He’d known Mickey Milkovich his whole life and knew for fucking sure he did nothing more than work, drink, and play video games. Ok, he also fucked like champ, but he was never ‘busy’. Unless…. Ian didn’t wanna think it… is Mickey seeing someone? Could he be so disappointed in the light show Ian worked so hard to give him that he wanted to see other people? Was he going out? Looking for guys who didn’t do stupid brightlightsromanticoverthetop shit? Fuck, he sobbed and could taste the bile in his throat.

Ian: busy?

       Oh yeah

       How?

_Breathe. Don’t jump to conclusions. Breathe._

Mickey:    going out with Castro

                Like for a beer

                Some other people maybe

                I’ll text u later

Well that was the vaguest shit ever. I mean Castro was cool and straight as an arrow, so Ian wasn’t worried about their friendship. God Mickey could have friends, he didn’t care. And Mickey was no cheater. Ian knew that in his very core. But something wasn’t right between them… and Ian lost all the certainty he’d had for the last three months with where him and Mickey were heading. _Stupid Ian, so stupid. Shouldn’t have done so much. Always too much._

Ian: k

       Well nye is like in two days

       Guess ill see u then

Ian put his phone down, head in one hand, water filling his closed eyes. Feeling the phone vibrate, fear trickles down his spine. Something is off. He knows it’s Mickey replying. Opening his eyes slowly he looks at the screen.

Mickey:    yeah so idk bout nye

                Castro and them invited me to this thing

                Might go

                Not sure

                But probly

And just like that Ian’s heart darkens with despair. Tears spilling over, nose running, looking down at their text thread Ian knows it’s over. They were planning to spend NYE together. For the first time in forever they were both free to do what they wanted, together. For the first time ever they could just do nothing together, whenever they wanted, for however long they wanted. And they were gonna do nothing for NYE. Ian was hoping they could light their own sparklers and pop a bottle champagne, order take out, then fuck all over his apartment, while fireworks exploded at midnight outside his balcony. He planned to fill Mickey’s last day of the year with sparkling lights and take him into the New Year with a boom and a bang and fill him up with love and light till they both exploded like the pyrotechnics that would cover the night sky.

Watching Mickey’s eyes darken with need when he first told him his plans made him certain they were both on the same page, wanted the same things. They were both so desperate to remake each memory, remark each new territory or occasion with shared dreams and goals and light, so much light. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how Mickey could just blow it off. Like it was nothing.

Meaningless.

Unimportant.

Like Ian.

Mickey blew out the candle on their plans like he was turning out the lights. Just a flick of the wrist. A movement of fingers over a screen. And just like that, Ian’s heart flamed out, and he lost himself to the depth of emptiness that engulfed his life.

_________

 

Mickey was the biggest asshole. No. He was the biggest coward. _What’s your problem Milkovich?_ Fuck if he knew.

“Yo Cas,” he calls as he walks back into the hallway to his office, “You guys still doing the NYE thing?” he catches up to him.

Castro, turns a little surprised, “Yeah, why… you gonna actually come?” Cas asks, trying to put humour in his shock. Mickey can’t blame him. He’s never gone to any after work beers, or movies, or whatever they’re always inviting him to.

“Yeah,” he says nodding his head, “Yeah I think I’ll come.” He walks by leaving his colleague open mouthed and standing in the office doorway.

_____

 

Day turns to night. Ian watches the tv through wet and puffy eyes. Dazed and devastated he turns into the back of the couch forcing himself to sleep. He’d drink another beer but he’s all out, and to be honest, his body’s too heavy to turn over, never mind trying to grab anything from the fridge. His mouth is dry, throat scratchy from relentless sobbing, but fuck if he cares. Mickey doesn’t want him, Mickey isn’t coming. Mickey’s ‘got plans.’

Night runs to day as Ian pulls the blanket over his head burrowing into the worn leather. His phone faces down under the table where he threw it, empty pizza box open among all the empty beer bottles, and he can’t bring himself to give a shit. He should eat. But other than the few bathroom breaks he barely manages to make, he has no intention to move. His bones ache and the darkness of his anxious thoughts weigh heavy on his chest. Is he depressed? His brain is foggy and he can’t tell if this is a downward spiral or just sadness. So much sadness.

Missing Mickey hurts more than breathing. More than before, when they were kids and Ian left him on the steps of his old house. Thinking about that day fills his heart with dread. God he was so stupid, so manic, so alone. And now, now Mickey had been back in his life again and Ian was filled with a kaleidoscope of dreams and light and hope and joy. They found each other again and Ian felt like he was home again. Mickey was his home. Even when he was a dumb 15 yr old kid fucking Kash in the freezer, or when he was dancing in clubs letting people touch him, when his life fragmented and went out of focus and he lost track of time and space, Mickey was always home… a beacon of warmth and care and loyalty and home… Mickey was home.

But like fucking always Ian had to go and push. He had to push and pull and pour all his light through Mickey’s armour trying to give him too much. Always too much.

Wading to the bottom of an ocean of darkness and self doubt he digs deeper into the couch as day turns to night.

______

 

The night before NYE Mickey finds himself sitting on his shitty couch, in his shitty living room, staring at his phone in the dark. Ian hasn’t texted in two days. Mickey keeps trying to tell himself Ian's probably busy hanging out with the Gallagher clan or some of his friends from work, but who the fuck is he kidding? Ian can’t go more than two hours without texting him some random nonsense, no way he could go two days. Two fucking days. Wrapped in darkness he doesn’t dare turn on any lights. The glow in his chest burns deep and he’s grown attached to the feeling of warmth surging in his veins, enfolding like a caress around his heart. _Ian._

He reaches for his phone touching the screen again watching it light up. Nothing. The light of the phone hurts his eyes and he shuts it off lying back on the couch. Fuck.

Light flashes, his phone buzzes and Mickey almost jumps three feet in the air. _What the fuck Milkovich!_ Catching his breath, he reaches for his phone running his finger across the screen to read the message.

Castro: yo mickey! Sent u deets for trrw

            C u mijo

Calming his heart, Mickey wants to kick his own stupid ass for being this desperate. Fuck him, but he needs that dumb redhead to text him. _You could text him yourself, coward._

Fuck.

Closing his eyes visions of his plans for NYE with Ian haunt him. Ian’s eyes bright and green reflecting the brightness of sparks and fire. Ian’s hand gripping, holding him close, heart beating in his throat. Ian’s mouth on his neck, his stomach, red lips wrapped around his cock. Fuck but he wanted to spend the last hours of this shitty year wrapped under that ginger orangutan.

What is he so fucking afraid of? Ian loves him. Ian wants him. _What’s your fucking problem Milkovich?_

Grabbing another beer from the fridge, he lies back on his couch watching the darkness and losing himself to the numbness of alcohol and denial.

______

 

“Ian?”

A voice echoes in the distance, but it’s not the voice Ian’s waiting for. Turning over he buries his face back in the pillow. The soft comforter warms around him, blue eyes smile up at him and he lets himself sink into the dream.

“Ian!”

This time the voice is closer, angry, worried. Pulling the duvet under his chin he tries opening his heavy lids. Blue steel looks back at him and he jolts awake, “Mickey?” he whispers, throat dry, mouth heavy.

“Mickey? What the fuck Ian? Ian!” Worried, panicked, fear, “Come on Ian, what’s going on?”

Not Mickey. Turning away from his brother Ian tries his best to fall back into the haze of Mickey’s smiling face. He was right there. Right there. God, he misses him so much.

“Ok, fine don’t talk to me. Just tell me what this is,” Lip is pacing back forth by his bed. “Are you spiraling, should I call Fiona? Everyone’s calling you, and you haven’t answered any of us for days.”

Ian feels the weight of his brother on the bed, hand reaching to touch his shoulder, “Ian… please give me something… I’m worried about you.”

_I’m worried about you, I love you._

Ian flinches and Lip moves his hand quickly, “Sorry, fuck, Ian…” he breathes and Ian knows he’s being a total asshole. Turning over he bends his body around Lip’s sitting form.

“I’m ok Lip,” he mumbles in his blanket.

“Thank fuck,” Lip reaches for his shoulder again. This time Ian lets himself be comforted by the warmth of his touch.

“I haven’t heard from you in days. Debbie’s been texting you and she got nothing. When Fiona called and you didn’t answer I got worried” he rubs gently, “You gonna tell me what’s up?” his voice gentles, almost humorous, “It’s New Years Eve and I know you must have plans” he shoves Ian lightly.

Plans. So many plans… Ian feels his eyes filling again and covers his head, “Had plans,” he breathes, “No more.” _Don’t cry, don’t cry_. God he’s pathetic. Mickey’s probably getting ready to go out with his ‘friends’ having fun and he’s sulking like a pathetic mess of loss and regret.

So empty, so fucking empty.

“Ian,” Lip pulls the cover gently off his face, “Come one man, tell me what the fuck is going on.” Lip reaches in his pocket for a smoke and his lighter. Ian usually doesn’t let anyone smoke in his apartment, but he knows Lip won’t leave his side right now. Pulling on his cigarette Lip breathes out smoke and smiles at his brother, “So, it’s a guy huh?” looking away he takes another pull. “To be fucking honest I’m relieved,” smoke billows out his nose, “I haven’t seen you this fucked up over a guy since Milkovich disappeared.”

Ian groans, “Fuck off,” he mumbles and turns on his back staring at the ceiling.

“Come on fuck face, let’s get you showered up, you smell like shit and I gotta tell everyone you’re not dead,” Lip gets up and starts walking towards the door. Turning, he takes another pull off his cigarette, “Let’s get fucked up together at least man, it's fucking New Year's Eve.”

Ian turns his head looking at his brother. Lip smirks “You know I’m not leaving till you get up and at least shower and change those sheets. You look like the living dead Ian” he blows more smoke walking out the room.

______

 

Mickey looks at himself in the mirror for the fucking millionth time.

_You’re a pussy._

Running a hand through his freshly showered hair he takes another swig of his beer.

_Pussy, pussy, pussy._

“Fuck off,” he growls at his reflection. Avoiding his eyes, he checks out his outfit: black jeans, dark blue button down, not bad. Cas said semi-formal, whatever the fuck that means.

He’s been mostly drunk the last 24hrs and he’s absolutely gonna need something stronger to numb the brightness still pumping through his veins. Castro better bring the good shit tonight cause Mickey’s gonna need all the chemicals he can get to dull the brightens of his stubborn fucking heart. _Ian, Ian, Ian,_ like a song he can’t stop singing. Like a pull he can’t control, like magnet he can't unhinge from, like wet lips on his neck, hard hands on his hips, a big strong body wrapped around him like a vice… _Mick_ , he feels Ian’s breath in his ears and his knees buckle.

 _What is wrong with you Milkovich?_ Fuck if he wants to know.

Walking to the bar, Mickey focuses on his cigarette and the whiskey buzz he’s still got going. He breathes out warm smoke and inhales the freezing Chicago air trying to cool the hot pain in his chest. His mind can’t stop wondering what Ian’s doing. Is he getting ready to go out? Fuck he probably looks amazing in whatever he’s wearing. That fucking ginger never looked bad a day in his life. He’s probably already got new plans, Mickey tortures himself, somewhere in BoysTown, some big fucking gay party with gay hot losers in gay fucking booty shorts dancing to gay fucking music.

 _I love you Mickey, I’m yours Mickey_ , Ian’s body in technicolour writhing under him, and Mickey almost stumbles at the vision. Fuck.

Pushing the door to the bar, he’s way too early, but sitting at home isn’t an option so he might as well get his fucking drink on before his body betrays him and he turns slightly north to answer the beacon that keeps tugging on his brightashell fucking heart.

“Mickey!” Castro looks over from where he’s blowing up gold and black balloons, “You’re fucking early mijo” he lets a gold balloon deflate as he walks over to wrap his arms around his friend.

“Yeah,” Mickey pulls back, looking around the bar, “Making this shithole festive huh,” he teases his friend.

“It’s New Year's Eve man,” Cas squeezes his shoulder, “We’re all festive!”

“Sure man,” Mickey rubs his thumb across his nose, “Let’s get fucking festively drunk yeah?”

Castro squeezes his shoulder again, searching his friends face, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Walking to the bar Mickey grabs a seat letting his friend order them both a double JD, no ice.

Lifting his glass and shoving the other one in Mickey’s hand, Castro grins at him, “What are we toasting to Mickey?” Green forests reflecting bright purple and orange and pink. Hard muscles clenching underneath him, chest panting, breath warm and wet, fingers coiling around dark cords, tightening, pulling… “Yo Mickey,” brown worried eyes search Mickey’s face, “You good man?”

“Wha-“ Mickey shakes his head coming back to himself, “Yeah, good, I’m good” he mumbles.

“Don’t leave me hanging man,” Castro waves his drink in front of Mickeys face, “It’s bad luck not to toast on New Year's Eve,” he wraps Mickey’s hand around his own drink.

“K, toast man, fuck,” Mickey grumbles without too much heat, “Say what you gotta say so I can down this fucking drink and grab the next five thousand I’m about to have” he holds his drink slightly off the bar waiting for this Latino motherfucker to get on with it so he can blitz the fuck out and stop thinking.

Putting down his drink without toasting Castro looks Mickey in the eye. Fuck. Mickey knows what’s coming.

“K, what’s up man?” brown eyes searching Mickey’s face. Mickey downs the drink in one shot slamming the glass firmly on the bar.

“Just trying to get drunk man,” Mickey looks for the bartender who’s organizing his bottles for the night, “Another,” he gestures with the glass.

“Mickey…” Cas begins.

“Look,” Mickey interrupts him, “I know you’re gonna give me that fucking sad look all night so I’m just gonna say it,” Mickey catches his breath. Maybe if he just says it, he’ll get these rainbow lights outta his head and turn off the ultraviolent techno show happening in his chest. “Ian and I had a fight,” he starts, “well, not a fight… more like… more like Ian gave me the best Christmas present I’ve ever seen anyone ever get and I-“ he chokes on his words. The bartender fills his glass, and Mickey breathes deep before downing the hard whiskey in one shot again.

“You what mijo?” Castro waves the bartender away before he can pour Mickey more liquid courage.

“Fuck you man,” Mickey groans at Castro as he watches the bartender hold up his hands in surrender and backing away.

“You what, asshole,” Castro presses.

“I fucking left him ok,” Mickey snaps irritated, “Tell him to come the fuck back and fill my glass.”

“You fucking left him?” Castro ignores the bartender comment, “Wait. Let me get this straight,” he turns now fully facing his friend, “Ian gave you the best present you’ve ever seen anyone get, and you left him? Like left the room or left your man?” he watches Mickey shrug, focusing on the bottom of his glass. “Mickey. Mickey, why?” he gets a little closer trying to get Mickey to look up, “You don’t love him anymore?”

“What,” Mickey looks up at that, “Of course I love that asshole Castro, what the fuck,” Mickey’s indignant eyebrows reaching epic heights. “God I love that ginger dragon” he sighs putting the glass down.

“So,” Castro’s neck pushes forward getting in Mickey’s face, ”If you love him, why you here with me?”

“Safer,” Mickey mumbles looking away.

“Dios mio, the world is fucking coming to an end tonight!” Castro looks around shouting dramatically. “I didn’t believe it when my zia read those fucking bible verses, or when the preacher warned us about it on tv, or even when those salt eating drug heads were eating the faces of random people, but I fucking believe it now” arms up, he spins around backing away from Mickey, “The world is ending familia, its happening right now, and I fucking believe it,” He laughs maniacally

“Fucking idiot,” Mickey runs a hand over his face, “Stop looking stupid and get me another drink.”

“Oh no mijo,” Castro lowers his arms and steps in front of Mickey, “The only stupid looking one in here is you.”

“Ok, I look stupid, just get me another drink and go back to blowing fucking balloons for your gay New Year’s Eve party k?”

“Sure thing Mickey,” he waves at the bartender, “Hey Joe, pour some more forgetting liquid for my friend the cowardly lion here,” he grabs Mickey by the shoulder.

“Yeah fuck you,” Mickey waits for the bartender to fill his glass, “I ain’t no coward,” he chugs.

“Keep drinking Mickey, maybe when your drunk enough you’ll believe that.”

Fire burns in Mickey’s stomach and it’s not from the fact that there’s nothing but whiskey in his intestines. Putting the glass down he considers ripping Castor a new one, when he feels a soft buzzing in his pocket.

Cas watches him silently as he pulls his phone out and runs his finger across the screen.

Ian: happy new years eve mick

       Hope you have a good time

       Tell castor I said happy new year

Mickey looks up at Castro’s knowing smirk as his phone buzzes again.

        Love u

Mickey slumps in his stool, eyes blurring as he stares at the screen, his hand reaching for the glass.

“If you reach for one more drink Mickey Milkovich, I swear to the gods of my fucking ancestors I’m gonna lay you out right here before this party even gets started,” Castro warns. Mickey looks up to see his friend standing right in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “Go, you idiot, go get what you want,” Cas shakes him and the water in Mickey’s eye’s spills over, “Go you dumb motherfucker,” Castro shakes him again, “Go get what’s yours.”

 _Always yours, yours Mickey, always yours_. Pink and blue and purple and green whirlpool in Mickey’s watery gaze, _only yours Mickey, make me yours_.

And Mickey’s running. Breaking from his friend’s grip, past the doors, out into the cold air that hits his wet face like a splash of freezing awareness. Running, faster, faster. Whiskey grumbling in his belly, throat frozen from breathing too hard, running.

Past red lights, barely avoiding moving vehicles, sliding on icy patches, Mickey Milkovich is fucking running. Except this time the running feels good, feels right, and nothing short of the end of the world Castor bragged about can stop his burning legs from pushing himself even faster. _Ian, Ian, Ian_ the light beacons, _Ian, Ian, Ian_ , his heart fills with breath and hope and pink and blue and purple. _Ian, Ian, Ian,_ Mickey runs, his feet barely touching the ground.

______

 

Reaching Ian’s apartment Mickey takes the stairs two at a time to get to the third floor. Standing outside Ian's door he takes deep breath to ease his thundering heart. Listening to his pulse calming he realizes he hears voices inside Ian’s apartment. No not voices. One voice. Not Ian. _What the fuck?_   Shock hits him in the chest and Mickey takes a step back from the pain. Does Ian have someone else over? Fuck. His head spins with memories, Ian leaving him, Ian fucking random strangers, Ian manic and dulling his pain with alcohol and drugs and… men… fucking old random viogroid men!

Mickey puts both hands on Ian’s door trying to reason through his panicked thoughts. It's only been 4 days. 4 fucking days. _Breathe Milkovich, breathe_. The voice inside Ian’s apartment turns soothing. Mickey can’t hear the words but some guy’s in there trying to coax Ian. And for the first time in 4 days Mickey sees only red. Bright fucking burning red, as he bangs his fist into the door.

Bang, bang, bang. _Open this door fucker_.

Bang, bang, bang. _Fucking better open this door_.

Seething Mickey’s about to punch through the wood as the door pulls back revealing the last person Mickey Milkovich should be seeing when everything’s bathed in red this way.

“Milkovich?” Lip’s mouth hangs open, eyes darkening with anger, “I should’ve known,” he growls and goes to slam the door on Mickey’s raging snarl.

Fist out, Mickey blocks the door from closing. _Fuck this asshole_. “Ian?” he shoves his body past the half opened door, past Lip’s objecting voice, and walks past the hallway ignoring the fact that the fucker’s following him.

“Ian,” he says louder as he steps in the bedroom seeing Ian’s form wrapped in a white comforter. Closing his eyes, he’s assaulted with the last time he saw him wrapped up in his bed this way. _I’m not broken, you can’t fix me._

“The fuck Mickey,” Lip shoves past him and the room suddenly gets smaller, Lip’s anger pushing against Mickey’s desperate rage. _You did this Milkovich_.

“You responsible for this Milkovich?” Lip echoes and Mickey swears he must be losing his fucking mind.

“I… “ Mickey shutters.   _You did, you did, you fucked it up!_

“No. Stop it.  It’s not Mickey’s fault,” Ian’s voice forces them both to look at his frame, still looking towards the back wall, “Don’t blame Mickey,” he sighs.

“Well that all he’s said in like 3 hrs so I guess you have a purpose after all,” Lip sneers.  

“Fuck you asshole,” Mickey looks at Lip, but the fight’s poured out of him. Ian’s talking, he’s listening, and Mickey knows this, at least, can’t be as bad as the last time.

“I gave you a chance back in the day,” Lip steps closer to him, “I gave you a chance because I thought you loved him,” he whispers harshly.

“I did,” Mickey looks at the floor, at Ian, back up at Lip, “I do.”

“Really?” Lip mocks him, “If this is your love, I fucking think Ian can do better.”

Mickey flinches at the words he’s been telling himself for years.

“I think you need step the fuck back now and leave.” Lip gets in his face.

Standing his ground, chest full of ultraviolet light Mickey turns his head and meets Lip’s ice cold gaze with his own blue storm. Lip wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t fucking right either.

“Not leaving,” he chews on his lip, daring the older Gallagher to try something.

He sees Ian turn in his peripheral vision and fucking almost crumples in relief. Not an episode, just sad. Sad cause of Mickey, but still only fucking sad.

“Oh yeah?” Lip doesn’t back down and Mickey’s pretty sure he can also see that Ian’s watching them. “Are you sure that these are the complications you want Mickey? You know how he gets when he’s manic, when he’s out of control? You know how he gets when he’s down,” Lip keeps going daring Mickey to back down, “You know how fragile he can be, how easily fucking fractured,” Lip’s eyes go to Ian on the bed and when he looks back at Mickey there’s a tornado of threatening anger in his gaze.

But Mickey’s too far in his own storm to back down from the implications this fucker’s throwing his way. “You think I care about how he acts when he's not himself, you think I’m scared of his mania, or his spirals,” (I mean he wasn’t fucking thrilled about them, but no way he was scared of Ian in any shape or form), “You never did understand the kind of love that we have asshole.  Ian loves nobody but me, which is fucking perfect cause Ian’s mine,” he looks towards the bed and green lakes of sadness take the edge of his rage, “He’s been mine since we were 15 years old,” he keeps his eyes on Ian, “and nothing and nobody will ever change that.” He licks his lips watching Ian’s eyes fill with hunger at the gesture.

“And fuck,” he almost chuckles, watching the light grow stronger in Ian’s face, “the most amazing part, the truest part, is that I am all in, and have been all in, since the day this red menace walked into my house with a crowbar,” he pulls his eyes away from Ian’s open mouth and turns looking Lip up and down, “So you can stand there and judge me, I don’t give a fuck, but if you ever try to stand between me and the only reason I’m fucking breathing again, that will be our last conversation.”

Startled Lip steps back. Mickey’s figures it’s not so much out of fear but more the fact that he’s just spilled his fucking bright as fuck feelings all over this stupid room.

“Take care of him,” Lip orders as he retreats out of the room, but Mickey’s already forgotten he was there. Fucking Gallaghers.

Stepping cautiously to the bed, his eyes roam over Ian's body scanning for any signs of damage or distress. His hair is wet and Mickey can smell that he’s just taken a shower, so at least that’s good. The bed seems freshly changed as well and other than Ian avoiding his gaze now, he seems more or less unscathed. At least on the outside.

Ian says nothing. He runs his fingers back and forth on the sheet in front him, face turning into the arm supporting his head. He might have defended him from Lip, but now he was quiet again.

“Look, Gallagh-“ he starts.

“It’s ok Mick,” Ian looks up at him, his hand flattening on the bed, “You don’t have to stay. See I’m good, no spiral, no metal health case, meds are working, I’m good,” he fakes a smile and Mickey drops to his knees on the bed and sits on his ankles. Fuck, he still has his boots on.

“You think I’m scared about your bipolar shit? You think that’s what’s got me running Iike a pussy?” he scoffs in disbelief, “Fuck Gallagher, I thought you knew me better than that,” half joking he hopes to see Ian’s face light up with a real fucking smile.

Ian opens one eye looking at him, his interest peaked, curiosity in his voice, “If not my broken brain than what? I gave you everything Mick,” he breathes, tired, “Everything.”

“That’s the thing right,” Mickey rubs his nose, looking away, “You gave me everything. And I’ve been wanting it for so long I literally panicked the fuck out when I got it.”

“Huh” Ian huffs unconvinced and Mickey tries to find the words to explain the simplest and terrifying of all truths. “You gave me all that you are, and in one fell swoop I had everything I ever wanted, and like who the fuck am I, Ian?” he shrugs now totally uncomfortable and open, “I grew up in so much fucking darkness, I’m so full of darkness every day, how can I ever deserve so much light? I’ll ruin it all,” his voice breaks on the truth, “Like I did the last time, when I fucked it up, and you left.”

“What?” Ian sits up finally offended enough for the anger to bleed through his lethargy, the duvet pooling around his waist, “You think you fucked it up? What the fuck Mickey?”

“You left,” Mickey confesses looking away, “And to be fucking honest, I was mad as hell that you never came after me, but I never came after you either. I left you there, on that porch, crying and unmedicated, and I never checked on you, I never called you, I just… walked away” words pour out of Mickey with an honesty that’s both freeing and paralyzing. “It was easier telling myself it’s what you wanted, but the truth is, I was fucking scared. Scared of what it meant to love you, scared of what it fucking meant not to love you. Scared like a fucking cowardly lion because I was ready to answer yes when you asked if we should go down to the court house, and we were fucking kids!”

“You told me to fuck off, I recall” Ian scoffs hand reaching Mickey’s shirt collar, fingers feathering the exposed skin at his collar bone.

“Ai Firecrotch,” Mickey runs his hand through Ian’s wet hair, humour in his voice for the first time since he stepped into the apartment, “Don’t you know that’s how I say yes.”

Ian chuckles, “And no.”

“And no,” Mickey laughs.

“And I hate you,” Ian starts to giggle a little.

Mickey, loving that sound so much he tugs on Ian’s hair bringing him closer to his mouth, “And I hate you,” but they both know the way his voice cracks, the way his fingers linger on Ian’s nape, it’s not I hate you, it never was, and never will be.

Ian reaches his hand behind Mickey’s neck and pulls him through that last inch of air separating them so their mouths line up and their wet lips almost touch. Mickey kisses him soft and smooth and Ian’s tongue dips gently into Mickey’s mouth with a moan.

_____

 

Sitting on his bedroom floor, back against the wall, Ian rests his head on Mickey’s shoulder watching as the brunette lights each sparkler one at a time, dazed by the brightness of it all, saddened as they all burn out.

“You think our love will burn out like that?” Mickey echoes his thoughts watching as sparks light up the dark room only to flame out and disappear.

Ian turns his head, pulls Mickeys face towards him and kisses him soft and long. Pulling back a breath away he smiles on Mickey’s lips, “No Mick, I don’t.”

“Thing is,” Mickey’s eyes roam Ian’s face, unsure, “I’ve been setting everything on fire since I was a kid, and when I saw you like that, so much light… and love… I couldn’t handle it.”

“Look at me Mickey,” Ian touches his face, green pools of surety drowning out blue oceans of doubt, “What we have is not a firework, it’s not a sparkle, its not a dying star. What we have is an eternal flame that burns brighter than a supernova, hotter than the sun, and will never, ever die. Even when we are no longer on this planet, and our bodies have turned to ash and stone,” he breathes kissing Mickey gently, “Even then, particles of me will be searching for the particles of you, for eternity.”

“Fuck that’s gay Gallagher,” Mickey groans turning away putting the dead sparkler down, “You’re such a fucking dork.”

“What?” Ian teases him, moving so that his knees are under Mickey’s knees and their facing each other, “Are you saying that your particles don’t wanna be part of my particles in the eternal universe?” he watches Mickey laugh and fuck it’s the most beautiful sight.

“Yeah, ok galaxy ginger,” Mickey laughs as he reaches into the back pocket of his pants, “Here,” he hands Ian a folded piece of paper, “Happy New Year's Eve or whatever shit.”

Ian unfolds the paper that’s been obviously in a pocket way too long, and looks up at Mickey questionably.

“It’s the test you wanted me to take,” Mickey rubs his thumb across his nose, “I know you gave me yours before Christmas asshole, so here’s mine. Glad were being all adult about this since we been apart so long, so here you go, your boyfriend’s clean and clear,” he smirks as Ian’s eyes go wide as saucers.

“What?” he teases Ian, knowing full well why he’s so surprised, “You thought I had some loser cooties or something,” he closes his mouth over Ian’s open mouth, hoping his ginger idiot will just drop all the sappy shit.

“You said boyfriend,” Ian says into his mouth. _Guess not_ , sweet Christ.

“Mhmm,” is all he can say as Ian’s strong hands tilt his head so he can kiss him deeper. Fuck but he loves it when Ian takes control of his mouth, his body… his fucking life.

“You said boyfriend,” Ian mouths again over his lips, this time pushing Mickey backwards never breaking contact and laying Mickey on the hard floor.

“Ai Gallagher, are we really gonna bang on the hard floor?” Mickey pretends to complain, grabbing at his belt and starting to unbuckle.

“Yes boyfriend,” Ian pulls back slightly, green fields of joy looking into hooded oceans of blue, “I’m fucking you into the hardwood floor, and then, when your ass has taken enough of a bruising, you’re gonna ride my dick like the fucking pale stallion you are until we both pass out in a mess of cum and sheer oblivion.”

"Yes sir," Mickey mocks a salute still smiling like an idiot.

Reaching for the lube in the night stand Ian watches as Mickey sits up and unbuttons his dark blue button down, “Slower,” he commands, and his voice’s a little harsher than he means it.

Blue waters darken with need and Mickey slows his fingers, unhooking each button without hurry.

“Leave it on,” Ian pours lube on his fingers, still watching his beautiful boyfriend light up with every order, “Take your pants off.”

Standing Mickey pulls downs his pants, taking off his boxers and socks and shoving them all away. His cock already straining, Ian licks his lips as he looks up taking in all of Mickey’s luminescent skin. Focusing on the drop of precum he can already taste, he gets on his knees and grabs Mickey’s plump perfect ass with his unlubbed hand, swallowing his dick until it hits the back of his throat.

“Fuck Ian,” Mickey groans as his hands run through Ian’s hair, pulling just beyond the pleasure of pain and guiding him back and forth on his shaft. Ian flattens his tongue, letting Mickey’s heavy girth slide deep into his mouth hollowing out his cheeks to suck and swallow as much of Mickey as he can get.

“Fuck, god, Ian” Mickeys knees buckle a little, “I can’t, wait, fuck” Mickey pulls him off, hand still in his hair. Ian smirks up at his brunette boyfriend loving all the ways Mickey comes apart above him.

“C’mere,” he pulls on Mickeys dark shirt, forcing him to kneel in front of him and taking his mouth hard and open. Tongues melting, lips licking, teeth crashing, Ian devours Mickey like a last meal. Fuck but it’s been so long since he last tasted him.

“I’m so glad you came back Mick,” he confesses, running his mouth across Mickey’s collar bone, his chest, taking one nipple between his teeth and biting gently as Mickey shivers and moans, arching his back with need. “So glad you’re mine Mick,” Ian focuses on his other nipple, then runs his lips softly back up Mickey’s shoulder, sucking and biting as Mickey drops his head forward losing himself in touch and sound and the feeling of heated lips on quivering skin.

“Yours,” Mickey breathes on Ian’s neck and goosebumps follow his hot breath, “Always been yours.”

Ian’s heart stutters with the electric jolt those words send through him. Hand on Mickey’s back he pulls his boyfriend closer, needing their bodies connected, the rhythm of their heavy breathing like a song that fills the room with colours only they can see. Red and purple and pink and green and blue and Ian stares into all the lights of Mickey’s love, reflecting all the brightness of his own heart, and it’s like a cataclysm erupts between them fracturing all doubt and pain and hurt and every single fucking dumb and shitty thing they’ve done to each other. In that moment of ultraviolet clarity their hearts radiate pure synchronized illumination, igniting, awakening, inciting the fire that’s burned between them for almost a decade, stirring the flame that’s never gone out.

Pulling him impossibly closer Ian reaches his lubed hand over Mickey’s perfect ass, dipping one finger languidly in his lover. Mickey’s eyes stay open as he moans into the welcomed intrusion, and his grip tightens on Ian’s hips.

“Fuck, more, Ian,” he begs, as Ian takes direction and slips two fingers past his tight muscles.

“Mickey, Jesus, c’mere,” he pulls Mickey over him as he lies on the hardwood floor, “I want you on me Mick, fucking wanna see you,” eyes blown, lips wet, Mickey watches Ian lie back while one hand is still expertly prepping him to take it all. Grabbing Mickey by the shirt collar Ian pulls his neck down to suck on his wet mouth, hand through his dark hair, running down his bent back, muscles tensing in pleasure at his touch.

“Fuck, Mick, get on me, fuck, I need you,” he begs, or commands, he doesn’t fucking know. He grips Mickey’s thigh as he pulls his other hand slowly away from his ready heat and rubs the remaining lube on his weeping dick. The combination of wetness and lube makes him gasp as Mickey takes over rubbing and pulling and lines up that delicious ass ready to take him to the hilt.

Slowly, too fucking slowly, Ian watches as Mickey sinks down on him, breath panting, one hand on his chest, skies of blue blitzed out, wrecked, open, “Fucking beautiful Mickey,” Ian groans watching his lover’s face as he takes all of him in one hot, wet, tight slide, “So fucking good for me Mick,” he grips both of Mickey’s thighs holding him still as he tries to calm the ecstatic pulsing in his throbbing dick, “Too good for me,” he almost sobs coming undone under Mickey’s heated gaze, “Too good for me Mick, all the time… fuck.

Mickey watches as Ian writhes and falls apart beneath him, “Fuck Ian, I need to move,” he covers Ian with his body, his thighs still held in Ian’s large hands like a vice, “Move with me Firecrotch, come on,” he runs his tongue across Ian’s lower lip loving the way Ian losses control and his grip turns to an unrestrained push and pull on Mickey’s hips. “Like that, yeah,” Mickey breathes on Ian’s mouth, capturing the redhead’s groans and moans as he continues to manhandle Mickey’s hips on top of him turning him slightly with each push and pull, trying to find the bundle of nerves that will break Mickey’s world apart.

“So,” Mickey starts, trying to concentrate as Ian finds his prostate easily and watches Mickey stutter in pleasure. “I… was… thinking…” Mickey tries to say as stars form behind his eyelids and Ian forces his hips to take his cock over and over touching that spot inside him that melts his brain.

“No. Thinking. Mickey,” Ian pants as he pushes and pulls him, stomach muscles clenching, chest tightening, and fuck Mickey could cum just watching Ian’s body fuck up into him, “Fucking. Now.” push, pull, “Talking. Later,” pull, push, so hard, fuck, Mickey can’t think.

“Court. House.” Mickey pants the words and startles Ian so much the redhead stops mid stride and looks up, searching his face.

“Wha-“ Ian starts to say as Mickey captures his mouth and kisses him long and hard, their bodies still taking in oxygen, sweat cooling as Ian tries to wrap his mind around Mickey’s words.

Pulling back, Mickey watches Ian’s shocked face, “Court house?” he says again as the side of his mouth lifts in a grin.

“Yes,” Ian’s face lights up like a kid in a candy store and Mickey fucking loves the fact this ginger’s got no chill.

“Two queens..” Mickey says again, infected by Ian’s excitement and smiling probably just as stupidly as his boyfriend’s dumb beautiful face.

“Yes,” Ian says more firmly, sitting up so Mickey’s sitting in his lap.

“Tomorrow?” Mickey runs both hands through Ian’s fucked-out fire hair, knowing that he’s never needed a yes more than in the next three fucking seconds.

“Tomorrow,” Ian echoes watching Mickey’s lips like they hold all the words he’s ever wanted to hear, “Yes,” he whispers before wrapping his arms around Mickey, pushing him back against the floor, hovering over him, dick pulsing inside Mickey’s clenching heat.

“Tomorrow,” he says again capturing Mickey’s lips and pumping into him as Mickey’s back arches in pleasure, legs tight around Ian’s waist.

“Fuck, Ian… there, fuck… don’t stop… fuck, need to cum.. sweet fucking Christ… I cant,” Mickey whimpers under him, while Ian sets a relentless pace determined to get his lover off without touching him.

“Fuck Mickey, so good, so fucking good, cum Mickey, cum, I got you, fuck” gripping Mickey’s hips he twists them just slightly never breaking his stride as Mickey keens and sobs under him lost in the ecstasy swelling in his groin.

“I… fuck… gonna cum.. fuck Ian… gonna... cant, fuuuck!” Mickey cries out as ribbons of hot fluid spurt between them and Mickey’s muscles clench, tightening, puling, sending Ian over the edge as every molecule in his body fractures, crackles, explodes, into the brightest of fireworks, the most dazzling of shooting stars.

 

Lying on top of Mickey, his body weak and satiated, Ian twitches at the exploding sound of fireworks going off outside.

“Aww,” Mickey chuckles underneath him, chest vibrating with laughter, “the universe is just off by like 6 seconds Gallagher,” he wraps his arms around Ian’s body, fingers trailing up and down his spine.

“Dumbass,” Ian grins like an idiot pulling away to look at Mickey’s fucked-out laughing face. There’s never gonna be a day when Ian will tire of seeing Mickey soft and open like this. Never. “I thought you light your own fireworks Mick,” Ian teases him, biting his lower lip.

“Bitch, well you know it,” Mickey laughs harder, wrestling Ian, turning him over so he’s now lying on top of him. Blue bright stars linger on green warm fields as Mickey scans Ian’s face watching his mouth, “Well you know it,” he says again, lowering his mouth and seizing Ian’s never ending, stupid, fucking beautiful grin.

 

 


End file.
